Powers of Ten: Three
by Zephyra
Summary: "You're sure? You really want to get married? You want to get up in front of a thousand-odd people and declare that you'll be bonded to me, of all people?" (Fourth in a J/D series.)


Title: "Three" (Powers of Ten Series)  
Author: Marissa  
Rating: definitely PG-13 to R for suggestiveness and one instance of the worst bad language (sorry!)  
Genre: Romance  
Summary: "You're sure? You really want to get married? You want to get up in front of a thousand-odd people and declare that you'll be bonded to me, of all people?"  
Disclaimer: Josh and Donna are not, nor will they ever be, mine. *sigh*  
Archive: Save my work for posterity -- that's great! But let me know where it's going.  
Feedback: Everyone knows the sugary-sweet goodness of it.  
Author's Note #1: They don't play "Here Comes the Bride" because the composer, if I remember correctly, had ties to Nazi Germany. All I know is that it's definitely not used often at Jewish ceremonies.  
Author's Note #2: Ten to the third (three) power is one thousand. See, you take one, and follow it by a certain number of zeroes . . . ah, just forget it.  
  
  
Today I went to the Post Office and mailed one thousand invitations to my wedding.  
  
Because my wedding is in five weeks.  
  
I'm getting married.  
  
I'm marrying Josh in five weeks.  
  
When I dropped off the box with all the invitations, I had trouble believing that it wasn't a dream.  
  
I'm living this life? I'm engaged to Joshua Lyman? How is it possible?  
  
When I was younger, I never actually thought about the time between the proposal and the actual event. Now I'm living it. In my dreams, it was always Mr. Right proposing, then me sweeping down the aisle in a long white dress. There was nothing between or after these events; I never thought what it would be like to be engaged.  
  
Or married.  
  
I'm keeping thought at bay right now. Right now, I'm just dreaming about what it will be like to walk down the aisle and see Josh waiting for me at the end.  
  
That way, all my fears and doubts won't rise to the surface.  
  
The thousand invitations that I shakily sent out for our wedding reception are comprised of those addressed to every member of Congress, my entire family, Josh's entire family, and all of our friends. Of course, it's more than a thousand people; you can't invite a Congressperson to a wedding without inviting his or her spouse. Regardless, only a very small percentage of those invited to the reception are actually invited to the service.  
  
Josh and I had a long talk about the service. He wanted a rabbi there, and, after much discussion, I agreed. I haven't practiced my Christianity in years, and besides, as Toby might point out, "Jesus was a Jew from the day he was born until the day he died."  
  
A Reform rabbi who is a casual acquaintance of Josh has agreed to conduct our service on one condition: we must come to him when we have children, so we can discuss what religious upbringing we'll give them. We agreed, but the whole time, I was thinking, "Children? Children? How am I even going to make it through this engagement?"  
  
I'm so anxious, and to tell the truth, scared. I am absolutely terrified. The relationship that exists between Josh and me is perfect as it is. I thought it would only get better if we got engaged -- and so far, it has.  
  
But what if he shies away from me before the wedding? What if he realizes I'm a college drop-out from Wisconsin with a vaguely disapproving family, no financial stability, and very few skills? As things stand right now, he can get out at any time, and maybe that's part of what he likes about our relationship. Maybe, deep down, he really doesn't want to marry me.  
  
~~~  
  
It's two weeks until my wedding -- Donna's and my wedding -- and I am terrified.  
  
I have this recurring nightmare where Donna is walking toward me on a red, velvet carpet, and then suddenly she laughs, turns around, and strides the other way. In the dream, I know exactly what she is thinking: "Marry this old, co-dependent, passive-aggressive loser? Ha! I give myself twenty minutes to find someone better."  
  
Invariably, I wake up sweating, which wakes Donna. Then she drapes a slender, white arm across my chest, settles her head in the crook of my elbow, and goes back to sleep. Sometimes I follow her back to the land of dreams.  
  
Sometimes, though, I watch her as she sleeps. I memorize her every feature, imprinting her onto my brain. I think that if I forgot everything else, I would remember her face. Each and every eyelash has a secret name known only to the lashes themselves and my subconscious.  
  
Once in a while, as I watch her, I get the distinct impression that she is not really sleeping, but that she is watching me back secretly. This simultaneously makes me love her more and makes me worried. What is she looking for?  
  
I mentioned my anxiety to Sam off-handedly. "Sam, do you think I deserve Donna?"  
  
"Absolutely not. You're the luckiest bastard I know. Any other questions?"  
  
That answer, of course, did nothing to ease my mind.  
  
~~~  
  
I emerge from the Neiman-Marcus dressing room. "So, how do I look?"  
  
CJ looks up from her folded hands and studies me. "Donna?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
There is an expression on her face that is partly shock, partly delight, and partly awe. "I think it's possible that you look more gorgeous and sexy now than anyone has ever looked in a wedding dress." Then she grins her mischievous CJ grin. "You know, seeing as how I've never been married."  
  
I smile back. "Josh says he doesn't want to see this dress until I'm walking down the aisle."  
  
"That's a bad idea," CJ says, still grinning.  
  
Suddenly all the hope and good feelings are knocked out of me. "Why?" I ask desperately.  
  
"Because he'll see you, faint, and we won't be able to wake him up for a full hour, at least."  
  
"Oh." The depression subsides for a moment. "So I guess this one's a keeper?"  
  
"Yeah! Buy it! Donna, what on earth is wrong with you? You've been like this since . . . ." She drifts off. "Donna, do you -- are you getting married because you have to?" CJ looks alarmed, and her eyes fix on my abdomen.  
  
"CJ! Jesus Christ, I would tell you if I were pregnant! God! I'm on the pill, and I won't be off of it until I get my degree."  
  
"So you're really going to go back to school." CJ shakes her head. "I admire you so, so much. I'd hug you, but I don't want to wrinkle the dress." She smiles, a little less vibrantly than usual. "But then -- do you want to marry Josh?"  
  
"CJ, I want to be his wife more than anything in the world! But I don't feel worthy of him! I'm terrified!"  
  
CJ's mouth falls open, and she stares at me. Then after a second, she mutters "Fuck the dress," and she rises and gathers me in her arms more quickly than I would have thought possible.  
  
I start to cry, of course, because this is what I have wanted all along. Someone understands me! Someone knows why this fear grips my heart like a talon.  
  
CJ holds me and holds me until I run out of tears, then steps back so she is an arm's length away. "You better?"  
  
I nod tearfully, then, realizing lying won't help anything, shake my head. CJ frowns, takes me by the wrist and leads me back into the dressing room. "Take off the dress. We're buying it."  
  
I'm too tired and afraid to disobey, so I strip and let CJ hang the dress back up. I'm about to pull on my jeans, but CJ stays my hand. "Take a look at yourself in the mirror, Donna."  
  
I look at myself and see a tear-stained face, puffy eyes, mussed hair, small breasts. "CJ --"  
  
"Look again, goddammit."  
  
I peer at myself more intently. "What am I looking for?"  
  
"A reason that Josh would want you."  
  
I start to cry again. "You think he doesn't?"  
  
"Dammit, Donna!" CJ wheels me around to face her, and standing in front of one of the most powerful women in the country in my underwear makes me feel more intimidated than I have ever felt before. She looks truly anger, and I almost cower. "You don't get it! You just don't get it, do you? He would no sooner let you go than tear his still-beating heart from his chest! He loves you! You're beautiful! Most women would kill to have your figure, your features. And here you are, crying because you think you don't deserve Josh Lyman? This man who would do anything for you? I can't believe you. Don't you have any faith in him? Don't you have any faith in yourself?"  
  
Some of my good humor seeps back into me, and I wipe my tears away. "You sure know how to make a girl feel better, Claudia Jean."  
  
The angry look leaves her, and she chuckles. "I'm sorry about that, Donna. I was being harsh. But you're being blind, and if I hadn't say anything you would have been frigid for the first three months of your marriage."  
  
I double over laughing. "Frigid? Josh doesn't know the meaning of frigid. He'd probably think I was role-playing as a Catholic schoolgirl."  
  
CJ raises one eyebrow. "It's that good?"  
  
"Oh, CJ, it's -- " I grasp fitfully for words. "Fantas-- absolutely -- I just --"  
  
She holds up both hands. "Whoa, Nellie. While I enjoy hearing about my friends' sex lives, I would rather not have any pictures painted for me of Josh Lyman in all-out pimpmaster mode."  
  
I laugh even harder. When I gain control of myself, I get dressed and take the gown off the hook. "So you think --"  
  
"Buy it! You never know, it could come in handy even after the wedding." CJ wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and I start giggling like a teenager.  
  
Later, in CJ's car, with the dress hanging behind me in the backseat, she says, "Let's go to your place for a while."  
  
"But Josh is home, and we were going to -- " I stop, trying to respect CJ's wishes.  
  
"Donna, you are going to wear yourself out! I've never discouraged sex, but aren't you guys overdoing it a tad?"  
  
I know she's kidding, so I joke, "I think it's four years of unresolved sexual tension letting itself out now."  
  
CJ nods sagely. "Makes sense to me. But seriously, I want to talk to you and Josh."  
  
"No, CJ, please don't mention --"  
  
We happen to reach a red light, and CJ turns to me. "I can't, in good conscience, be your maid of honor unless this is out in the open. Got it?"  
  
I sigh. "You're right, you're right. Can I use your cell?"  
  
She nods, and I rifle through her purse until I find it. I dial the number of our place, and Josh picks up. "Hello?"  
  
At the sound of his voice, I want to burst into tears all over again from sheer joy. He's right there; he's always been there, and CJ's right -- I've been blind. "Hi, sweetie."  
  
"Donna? Is something wrong?"  
  
"No, no. But CJ's coming over, so you should, uh, get dressed."  
  
"Right, got it. See you in . . . ?"  
  
I look out the window. "Seven minutes, give or take thirty seconds."  
  
"Okay. See you, love."  
  
"See you, love." I smile as I hang up the phone. "See you, love" is our special farewell that we use instead of "good-bye," because we once talked about how much we hated saying "good-bye" to each other.  
  
"So he'll be decent? 'Cause honestly, Donna, I really don't want a peek at Little Josh."  
  
"I don't want you to get a peek at my fiance's package any more than you want to see it!" I cry, and in a moment we are both laughing hysterically. It's good to have a friend. Especially a friend like CJ.  
  
~~~  
  
I hear the sound of a key in the lock. "You were eight minutes, not seven!" I yell as the two women walk in. When I see the giant plastic bag that Donna is carrying, I cover my yes. "Hide the dress! Hide it!"  
  
I hear Donna scurry into the bedroom to hang up the secret dress, so I uncover my eyes. CJ is standing akimbo in front of me, and the expression on her face is troubled. As Donna walks back in, CJ says quietly, "Josh . . . Donna and I were talking. About the wedding. Donna has some . . . fears that she has been keeping from you."  
  
I feel like someone has punched me in the gut. Leaning against the wall, I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor. "No, no, no. I knew it. I KNEW it."  
  
"What, Josh?" CJ kneels down beside me, but Donna remains standing, tears pooling in her eyes. "What did you know?"  
  
"I'm too old, is that it?" I gaze up at Donna, who has placed one hand over her open mouth. Her tears have spilled over onto her cheeks. "Or -- I should have just given you the damn flowers in February! God! I am such a jerk!"  
  
"Josh --" CJ starts, but I interrupt.  
  
"I know I don't deserve you, Donna, but please don't break it off with me. I love you too much . . . ." Then I start to cry, and I feel even worse, because I hate crying.  
  
Donna looks like she's about to speak. But before she can, I hear something.  
  
Laughter. CJ is laughing.  
  
She's not giggling, or chortling, or chuckling. She is out-and-out laughing, clutching at her sides as if to reign in her merriment. "You two . . . are too . . . much!" she cries, gasping for breath between words.  
  
"What?" Donna and I say in unison.  
  
"Look at yourselves! You're both so worried that the other doesn't love you as much as you love them, that you're secretly beating yourselves up a week and a half before your wedding!" She composes herself. "I'd better go. I have a feeling I know exactly what will be going on in about twelve minutes." Then she leaves, still giggling spastically.  
  
Donna slumps onto the floor beside me. She has stopped crying, and so have I. "Donna?"  
  
"Josh, I told CJ that I didn't feel like I was worthy of you. You're a graduate of Yale Law, for heaven's sake, and I'm a drop-out."  
  
I sigh. "Here I am, thinking you'll reject me, and you think I'll reject you. We're a bundle full of pre-wedding jitters, aren't we?"  
  
Donna tilts her head back and echoes my sigh. "I don't know what I was thinking."  
  
"I do, because I was thinking the same thing." She looks back at me expectantly. "You're thinking, 'How could I possibly be this lucky? Is it really possible that I've found the one person whom I love, and who will love me more than anyone else?' You're thinking, 'How could I have made it to this point with a minimal amount of damage, when some people search their whole lives for the One?' You're thinking, 'I can't be this lucky.' The pessimistic part of your brain is kicking in, after all these months of happiness, just in time to kick you in your ass right before what is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. Am I right?"  
  
~~~  
  
"You're right," I say, and I put one arm around his shoulders. "You're absolutely right. I know you love and respect me. This whole thing was stupid."  
  
Josh looks at me penetratingly. "You're sure? You really want to get married? You want to get up in front of a thousand-odd people and declare that you'll be bonded to me, of all people?"  
  
I want to say, "If you do," but I sense immediately that's a bad answer. Josh wants to know my answer, not his.  
  
So I put my other arm around his other shoulder and gently push him down to the carpet. I see surprise in his eyes, but I don't stop. I straddle his hips, one leg on either side, and, leaning down to him, kiss him on the lips.  
  
When I pull away, I see that his eyes are closed. I grin, and he opens his eyes. "What do you think, Mr. Lyman?"  
  
He grins back. "Can I have a serious, non-sex-related answer? Please?" I hear fear behind the noncommittal tone, so I lie down on the carpet next to him, take a few deep breaths, and prepare to speak.  
  
"Joshua, Josh, Josh," I begin. Instantly his face splits back into a wide, dimpled smile. "I'm never happier than when I'm with you. You make me feel smart, respected, sexy, and loved. I love you. You're my best friend in the world." Then I laugh. "Don't you get it? There's nothing I would rather do than tell the world I love you."  
  
~~~  
  
At that instant, all my fears evaporate (except the normal ones -- what if my tux gets dirty?), and we kiss.  
  
The two of us were suffering from low self-esteem, and the consequences weren't pretty. But simple words healed the wounds that time would only have aggravated. We just needed simple assurance, and we're each responding to it now like a daisy responds to the sun.  
  
I send a silent thanks to CJ, and kiss Donna again.  
  
~~~  
  
The next day, CJ and I go back to Neiman-Marcus to get CJ a dress.  
  
"You can pick the color," I offer. "We're having a lavender-dusky rose-and-white theme, but you can flaunt my trust if you want. Today is all about you, my tall friend!"  
  
"Donna?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What happened yesterday?"  
  
I grin mischievously. "It didn't take twelve minutes."  
  
She raises an eyebrow. "Everything's resolved then?"  
  
"Yeah. Thanks, CJ."  
  
"No problem." She wipes imaginary sweat from her brow. "Phew! That was a close one. I'd better tell Toby to cancel the getaway car."  
  
"You told Toby?" I shriek.  
  
CJ looks at me innocently, then flashes a wide smile. "Gotcha!"  
  
We scream with laughter as I pummel her with my purse. "Bad CJ! Very, very bad!"  
  
~~~  
  
It is January fourth, 2003, and I am sitting next to Sam in a limousine. "Breathe in . . . breathe out," I instruct myself. I try desperately to follow my own instructions, but it is extremely difficult. Sam is no help.  
  
He picks at imaginary lint on his tuxedo. "Do you like this tie?" he asks out of the blue.  
  
I stare at him. "Sam?"  
  
"Well, it has dusky rose in it, even if the rest is more baby blue than lavender."  
  
"Sam, you've got to be kidding me."  
  
"What?" he says innocently.  
  
"We're going to my wedding, remember?"  
  
"Of course I remember! Why else would my tie be this . . . pastel?" he asks, disgust in his voice.  
  
I grab Sam by the lapels and shake him. "I need some guidance here, buddy!" I shout.  
  
Sam looks a little shocked. "I thought . . . I just thought I was supposed to hold the ring and make a toast."  
  
"Can you please, please, PLEASE say something encouraging? Anything?" I am terrified, not so much about the actual marriage part, but about the reception. Actually, the entire things terrifies me. I need a lifeline. Unfortunately, all I have is Sam.  
  
"Uhh . . . I'm glad Donna agreed to this?"  
  
I groan very loudly, and snatch the cell phone out of Sam's jacket pocket. (He refused to leave it home.) Then I dial CJ's cell number.  
  
"CJ Cregg."  
  
"CJ? Give Donna the phone."  
  
"Josh!" I hear Donna gasp in the background. "That's bad luck."  
  
"CJ, give Donna the goddamn phone."  
  
"Poor sport," I hear CJ murmur. There is a shuffling noise, then: "Josh? Is everything all right?" Hearing her voice, I'm instantly calmer.  
  
"Thank you. Thank you so much, Donna."  
  
"For what?" Dear God, she sounds scared. My Donna sounds frightened, and I caused it.  
  
"For going through all this bullshit just to be with me. This big wedding stuff. I know you would have wanted a smaller one . . . ."  
  
She giggles. "Well, to be honest, most of my childhood wedding fantasies were set in the summer, but that's hardly the point."  
  
"So a January wedding was never your plan?"  
  
"No. But the Rose Garden will look fairy-tale enough, all dusted in snow."  
  
"But then we have to have the stupid reception inside," I whine.  
  
"Josh, can we possibly cut this conversation short? We're almost at 1600."  
  
I look out through the tinted window and realize she's right. I am about to acquiesce, but instead I say, "Donna? This wouldn't have happened if our engagement had been longer, would it?"  
  
She sighs. "No. Probably not."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It's no one's fault, Josh. It was . . . it was right to have it before -- you know."  
  
Before our four-year dream is a thing of the past, I think. "Yes. It's fitting."  
  
"What can I say, Josh? We serve at the pleasure of the President."  
  
I chuckle. "We sure do. Next we'll be planning the pregnancies so the due dates coincide with ancient Roman feast days."  
  
Donna giggles. "We really have to hang up now."  
  
"I don't want to," I whine.  
  
"I love you, sweetie," she responds firmly. "Now go talk to Sam about sports or sex or beer or something."  
  
"Are you talking about the same Sam who's sitting next to me?" I mutter incredulously, and she laughs sweetly.  
  
"See you, love."  
  
"See you, love," I reply, and turn off the cell, placing it back in Sam's pocket. "Sam?"  
  
He has been staring out the window blankly, but now he turns slowly to face me. "Yeah?"  
  
"You cool? You got your toast written?"  
  
A look of indignation spreads across his face. "Are you joking? I had the entire Communications staff help me write it! I went through four drafts, Josh!"  
  
It is my turn to laugh. "I should have guessed."  
  
Before long, we are at the White House. We have it timed so Donna will arrive before I will, so she has time to get to the dressing room without my seeing her. I see Donna's limo parked up ahead of ours, so I know everything went to plan.  
  
I step out with Sam right behind me, and we walk outside, passing through several checkpoints. I want to kiss everyone and yell, "I'm getting married!" But I don't. I contain my furious excitement. Save it for the actual kiss, I tell myself.  
  
We pass into the Rose Garden, where about thirty guests are already assembled. The guests are comprised of my mother, Donna's parents and brothers, the President, the First Lady, their daughters, a handful of Secret Service agents, including Ron Butterfield, Leo, Toby, Charlie, Margaret, Carol, Cathy, Bonnie, Ginger, and mine and Donna's closest non-work friends.  
  
The rose bushes are exquisite; each branch is enveloped in a coat of diamond-like ice, and at the foot of the bushes are piles of crystalline snow. There is a length of red carpet on the frosty ground, and at the end of it is a beautiful wooden chuppah that Toby lent us. (Don't ask me where Toby got a chuppah.) Inside the chuppah, the rabbi is waiting.  
  
"So, rabbi, have you ever done a rose garden wedding before?" I ask, smiling broadly as I approach and shake his hand.  
  
He smiles back. "Not at this particular garden, I must admit."  
  
"Nothing to it."  
  
"Not in your case." He chuckles. "I'm not worried about you two."  
  
"Thanks. Neither am I."  
  
Within a few minutes, the crowd is hushed, and Sam and I are standing in our places under the sacred canopy. I can see Sam bouncing on the balls of his feet out of the corner of my eye.  
  
My heart is racing. Now or never, Lyman, now or never.  
  
Was this how my father felt on his wedding day?  
  
Steady, boy, steady. Keep cool, calm, collected.  
  
I can't ever remember being this excited about anything, ever.  
  
Almost as if at a distance, I hear music strike up. It's not "Here Comes the Bride," but it's appropriate, wedding-esque music. Donna's bridesmaid process down the aisle: first Ainsley, then Donna's only sister, then CJ.  
  
Joanie would have been one of them.  
  
But I have no time to pursue that train of thought, because it's Donna's turn --  
  
All the thoughts that were in my head evaporate into the ether.  
  
It's Donna's turn. The guests shift in their seats to watch Donna emerge from her little tent and walk down the carpet.  
  
The dress, I learn, is long and white, as expected. The sleeves are separate from the dress, so her white shoulders are exposed. The top is shining satin, but it's high-cut enough to be appropriate. At her waist, the dress puffs out into a huge lace bell that arcs gracefully out and down to her ankles.  
  
She is carrying a bouquet of roses that are a beautiful shade of purply pink. On her face is a small smile, but it is the sort of smile that threatens to break into a huge one at any moment. When she looks into my eyes, it does just that, and I think her face and mine might shatter from the huge grins splitting them.  
  
Looking into her eyes, I forget everything else. I wouldn't even know where I am and why I'm grinning like an idiot if it weren't for the whole white dress thing.  
  
Donna is absolutely stunning.  
  
As I stare at her, she quickly raises and lowers her eyebrows once, which I know means, "You don't look so bad yourself, handsome."  
  
She reaches the chuppah, steps up a step to take her place in front of CJ, and I take her hand. As far as I'm concerned, I don't plan to let go anytime soon.  
  
The rabbi speaks about marriage for a while, then begins the vows. I can barely hear him; the blood is rushing past my ears too loudly. I never take my eyes off Donna.  
  
I hear Donna say, "I do," and her voice is the most mellifluous thing I've ever heard. I know my turn is coming soon.  
  
". . . to be your lawfully wedded wife?"  
  
"I do," I say proudly, and although my voice is a little higher than I would have liked it to be, I think I sound all right.  
  
"Let no man tear asunder the bonds that God has forged. I now pronounce you husband and wife." He pauses, and I instinctively jerk forward an inch. I hear laughter, and I see Donna's lips curl upward in an amused smile. "All right, Lyman, all right. You may now kiss the bride."  
  
Before the last words have a chance to travel to anyone else's ears, Donna is in my arms, and we are kissing.  
  
Silence. It's as if the whole world is holding its breath.  
  
But after a few moments, I hear someone out in the audience shout, "Yes! Woo-oooo! That's my boy!" I decide quickly but reluctantly that the kiss has gone on long enough, and I break it to look out into the audience.  
  
I'll be damned if President Jed Bartlet isn't on his feet, pumping his arm in the air and yelling like he's at a Notre Dame football game. "Woo-hoo!" The incongruity of the scene is astounding; this austere-seeming, tuxedoed man, whooping and yelling at a deafening volume, is quite a sight to behold.  
  
Behind us, the rabbi laughs. Donna and I join hands again, twining our fingers together, and turn to face our small but decidedly excited audience. "I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Moss-Lyman!"  
  
Then everyone is on their feet, screaming and clapping and laughing. "Go Sisterhood!" yells CJ from behind us. Abbey Bartlet is holding her hands above her head, applauding furiously. The President is still cheering. Even Toby has joined in, nodding as he claps loudly. I turn to face Donna at the same time that she turns to face me, and simultaneously we break out into uncontrollable laughter.  
  
With hands held high above our heads, I stomp down hard on a wine glass purchased expressly for this purpose, and the two of us jump down from the chuppah and walk quickly down the aisle.  
  
"Victory lap!" yells the President.  
  
So Donna and I, absurd as it sounds, jog around the cluster of people, hands above our heads, laughing the whole time.  
  
~~~  
  
The reception is beautiful. There is no other word for it. There is a tiered cake, an orchestra, and a thousand guests to eat food and share our joy.  
  
When everyone has champagne, Samuel Norman Seaborn ascends to a podium and clears his throat pointedly. "If I could have everyone's attention, please." Immediately, there is a supreme quiet, and I feel a chill pass through me. I hold Josh's hand tighter, and he gives me a quick peck on the cheek.  
  
"I've known Joshua Lyman for a long time. I've known Donnatella Moss for less time, but I must say she has made a deep impression on me these past few years.  
  
"Contrary to popular belief, I don't know everything." There is a small ripple of laughter from the responsive but reserved audience. "But here's what I do know: Josh and Donna deserve this. I love them both, and I know that they, two of the most interesting, kind-hearted, and intelligent people I've had the good fortune to call my friends, deserve this happiness."  
  
Sam breathes, and the sound of his breathing seems to fill the quiet room. When he resumes his speech, his voice cracks, and he has to start twice. "If we -- excuse me -- If we're lucky in this life, we learn to be comfortable in our bodies and our environment. We get to do the things we want to do sometimes instead of always doing the things we have to do. We find friends who love and respect us, friends we can love and respect right back. We find mentors to look up to and students to counsel. We never completely lose our innocence, but what we lose in naivete we gain in wisdom.  
  
"And if we're really, uncommonly lucky, we find the one person who means more to us than we do to ourselves. We find the person who just fits -- our soulmate."  
  
At this, Sam pauses and looks down at us. I see Josh wink at him, and he smiles as he continues.  
  
"Josh and Donna are infinitely lucky. Donna happened to wander into 'Bartlet for America' one day and meet the guy of her dreams. He's so humble and rugged, isn't he, Donna?"  
  
All eyes turn towards me, and I burst into laughter. "Wrap it up, Sam," I call. I recognize Sam's style, and I know his speech is drawing to a close.  
  
"All right, Donna. Seriously, though, it was pure kismet that these two met. They went through a lot together. We all went through a lot. But a bond was forged between them that I think can never be torn apart. And they deserve this beautiful thing, this marriage, more than anyone else I know." One tear rolls down Sam's cheek, but he hurriedly wipes it away. "If this were a speech I had written for the President, I would probably want to end it with a sage phrase, probably in Latin. Well, habits die hard, don't they? Here's what I have to say; here's my toast to Josh and Donna, taken from a poem by Catullus: Vivemus atque amemus -- let us live and let us love! Raise your glasses, and drink to that!"  
  
Obediently, our guests raise their glasses, and I hear a thousand voices chant, "Vivemus atque amemus!"  
  
I squeeze Josh's hand, and he squeezes it back. Life and love. Nothing else matters.  
  
  
  
"at my most beautiful  
I count your eyelashes, secretly.  
with every one, whisper I love you.  
I let you sleep.  
I know you're closed eye watching me,  
listening.  
I thought I saw a smile."  
-- R.E.M., "At My Most Beautiful" 


End file.
